


the start of something new

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [18]
Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, High School AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake joined Ark High half way through the school year. Clarke noticed immediately. Not because she felt it was her duty to know every student in the school, but because he drove a classic Camaro and wore a leather jacket and a white t-shirt on the first day of school, and she stopped in her tracks as she walked through the parking lot because he was literally sex on a stick, and there was nothing Clarke could do about it.</p><p>From an anon on tumblr: Hey! Could you like do a jonty+bellark hsau? I JUST NEED THAT! Thank you</p><p>Probably more Bellarke than Jonty, but here's the High School AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	the start of something new

**Author's Note:**

> Let us remember that I'm English and I hate using American language because it confuses and annoys me. Thank you.
> 
> (Yes the title is from High School Musical - the song is stuck in my head and it's totally my reference for high school stuff.)
> 
> This is violently un-edited and un-beta-ed. All mistakes are my own. I'll fix them eventually.

Bellamy Blake joined Ark High half way through the school year. Clarke noticed immediately.

At the time, Clarke was newly seventeen, ready to finish her junior year and start her senior and get the hell out of Ark. She was deputy student body president (Wells being the actual president and her just filling in for him when he got sick – Wells Jaha never got sick), and she also ran all student council meetings. Clarke was a member of practically every club in school; from celibacy to music, because she knew, as her mother had drilled it into her a thousand times, that clubs and extra-curriculars were important on your transcripts; Harvard, Yale, and Brown – they were all looking for that, and Clarke was prepared to give it to them.

She noticed Bellamy Blake, though, not because she felt it was her duty to know every student in the school, year group at minimum, but because he drove a classic Camaro and wore a leather jacket and a white t-shirt on the first day of school, and she stopped in her tracks as she walked through the parking lot because he was literally sex on a stick, and there was nothing Clarke could do about it.

He had a reputation for himself within days; Bellamy was a year older at eighteen, but repeating his junior year – he just shrugged when anyone asked him why – and he was always gone the second the bell rang, every day at the same time. And while within his first week he’d made out with at least four girls behind the gym or under the bleachers, he always drove home from school alone, and no one made it far enough to actually find out where he lived.

Clarke hated him on principle.

He was coasting through school and everyone wanted to know him. Meanwhile, she had to work exceptionally hard to get decent grades, and everyone merely tolerated her. She was nice, sure, but she was also Ark royalty – in the bad way.

Ark royalty in the good way would be Miller, Murphy, Mbege and Monroe. They were cool enough for people to not even refer to them as the ‘four Ms’ or anything as cheesy as that; but they were known and popular, and generally good at sports and got solid Cs in everything they did.

Ark royalty in the bad way was her and Wells, really. Because they were the royalty of the town, but they were by no means popular with the people who lived there.

-

Clarke met Bellamy by accident.

She was sitting at the park, a mile or two away from school, on a Saturday; her legs stretched out and crossed in front of her; her back against a tree and her head tilting back. It was early in the new year, so it was still cold enough to wear coats and hats – which Clarke secretly adored – and her sketchbook sat squarely on her lap, pencil in hand.

She loved drawing, always had. Her father had been an artist and taught her everything she knew; but since starting high school it had gotten to the point in which art grades weren’t going to get her into a medicine course and she had to drop it. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t spend her Saturdays (homework already completed and just extra revision to be done) drawing. Clarke was finding it exceptionally important to keep her talents in art; she didn’t want to look back on them in later life and not be able to draw like she used to – she wanted to keep learning, keep practicing, keep getting better; even if she wouldn’t be doing it for a living.

Today, she was drawing a girl on the swings. The playpark, in the centre of the park, was directly opposite where she sat. A young girl; about ten or so, had been there for a good thirty minutes, just on the swings. She leant back with every push, tilting her head back, her legs completely straight. It was elegant, how this girl played; pointed toes like a ballerina, ponytail flying after her on every push. Clarke tried to imagine her in slow motion; like she did when she was on the swing sets, herself. Everything would slow down and she would feel the rhythm of the swings; the chains under her hands and the way they dug into her thighs.

From what Clarke could tell, the girl was alone. So she drew, hoping the girl wouldn’t stop until she’d finished her picture. Clarke was sure that she would have her memorised, anyway; but there was nothing like the live model.

Just as she finished sketching the way her hair flew in the air, the girl completed one last swing, jumping suddenly and landing on the ground. She couldn’t hear what the girl called out; but it sounded happy, before she jogged over to the far end of the park, where someone was waiting by the gate. Clarke was just glad she finished her drawing, to be honest.

She watched the girl anyway; it was a man, maybe a teenage boy, who she met by the gate. He opened it for her, and she walked through, tucking herself under his arm as they headed through the park. It was when they reached the main path, not three metres from where she sat, that she recognised the older boy.

Bellamy Blake walked towards her, not registering her presence, but grinning and talking animatedly with the young girl – who she could only assume to be his sister. He had caramel skin and dark, ruffled hair. Tall and lean, and she knew he must be somewhat in shape because she heard that the coach of the football team had informed him to try out next year – but the basketball team was still open for recruits.

She wondered if he would notice her, but instead of leaving it to fate, Clarke resigned herself to packing away her things hurriedly into her bag, getting up before they were all in. After just a couple of steps her sketchbook slipped from her hands and her pencils went with it.

Sighing, Clarke ran a hand through her hair, kneeling down to pick up her things that littered the grass.

“Do you need any help?” A voice asked, and Clarke looked up, finding the young girl smiling down at her.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Clarke shrugged, looking back to the pencils and picking them up one by one.

“Here.” The girl knelt down next to her, picking up the pencils and putting them back in the pack, one by one. She then held up the sketchbook, glancing at it with a tilted head. “You’re an artist?”

“It’s just a hobby,” Clarke replied a little self-consciously.

“Can I look?” She couldn’t think of a reason not to, so she nodded, slipping the pencils back into her back pack. Clarke took the moment to study the girl; she had a full fringe, her dark hair tied up into a ponytail, and her eyes were a mixture of green and hazel, like they couldn’t make up her mind. She didn’t look a lot like Bellamy, but they had the same stubborn jaw, Clarke noticed.

“O,” a voice said, wandering up to them. “Is everything all right?” The girl – O – waved him off, her eyes transfixed on the pages in front of her. Clarke leant forward, looking over the edge of the book and finding her staring at the one of her; head thrown back in reckless abandon, feet out in front of her, flying through the air on the swings.

“Is this me?” The girl breathed, staring wide-eyed from the picture to Clarke, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Uh, yeah – you were there for a while, so I thought, why not?” Clarke mumbled in response. The girl’s face broke out into a smile.

“Bell!” She cried, looking around to Bellamy who was watching half-heartedly. “Look! This girl drew me on the swings!” Bellamy stepped forward, raised eyebrows, and looked at the picture. “It’s beautiful,” O smiled.

“It is,” Bellamy agreed. He seemed to look at her properly then; as if he hadn’t before. “Do I know you?” He narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger absently at her. She shrugged as O handed her book back with a smile.

“Not really,” Clarke replied, standing up and shoving the sketchbook into her backpack. O got up next to her as Clarke pulled on the zip. “We go to the same school.”

“Really? What year are you in?” O asked excitedly. “Bellamy’s a junior but he’s supposed to be a senior.” Clarke nodded.

“Junior,” she said, more to O than to Bellamy.

“What’s your name?” O questioned next. “I’m Octavia Blake.”

“Clarke Griffin,” she replied with a smile. Recognition seemed to flicker in Bellamy’s eyes then and he nodded.

“Ah,” he mused. “Ark’s town princess – I’ve heard about you. Where’s your prince?” Clarke raised an eyebrow then.

“I assume you mean Wells?” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. And please don’t call me a princess.”

“If the crown fits,” he replied. Clarke and Bellamy stared at each other for a moment; warily, eyes narrowed a little as if issuing a challenge – she didn’t like him, of that much she was sure. Clarke turned to Octavia suddenly, snapping the connection.

“It was nice to meet you, Octavia,” she smiled.

“You too, Clarke,” Octavia replied.

“Bellamy,” Clarke nodded, before walking off down the path.

-

“You met him?” Jasper asked, wide-eyed on the Monday. Clarke nodded over the table in the cafeteria.

“He’s a little bit of a prick,” she replied with a shrug. “Called me princess and stuff.” Monty rolled his eyes.

“Everyone does that.”

“I know – but… I don’t know; he rubs me the wrong way. There’s just something about him.”

“I know what it is,” Monty grinned. “He’s unfairly hot – you like him.”

“Nuh uh,” Clarke replied, stabbing her pasta with her fork. “You like him.”

“Sorry,” Monty smiled. “Spoken for.” He jerked a thumb towards Jasper, who was trying to stuff his entire lunch of crisps and fruit between the slices of his bread. Jasper looked up, raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“What the hell is that?” Clarke asked.

“Mega sandwich,” Japer shrugged. “If it’s all going to the same place, I don’t see the problem.”

“It’ll taste disgusting,” Clarke replied. Monty nodded.

“I’m not kissing you if you taste like that.” Jasper looked away haughtily.

“I don’t mind – you can go and kiss Bellamy.” Clarke snorted, stuffing another forkful of pasta into her mouth. In the space next to her, Wells lowered his tray to the table and sat down, sending a raised eyebrow towards Jasper’s lunch.

“That’s awful,” Wells complained.

“Exactly – it’ll be gross.”

“Food is about survival,” Jasper explained. “It doesn’t matter what it tastes like.”

“Actually,” Wells corrected. “It was originally about survival – but food is literally an art at this point; there’s a reason people go to restaurants. Food has the capability to taste amazing, and so it should. That,” he nodded towards the sandwich. “Is you pissing on the entire evolution of food.” Jasper snorted and Monty grinned.

“You’re so fucking pretentious,” the latter of the two said. Wells shrugged.

“At least I’m eating something that won’t taste like foot.”

“Yeah, it’ll taste like Scallop Sashimi with Meyer Lemon Confit,” Clarke replied, rolling her eyes. “Fucking pretentious idiot.” Wells grinned at her, shaking his head.

“It’s macaroni cheese,” he pointed out, and the entire table burst into a fit of laughter.

-

Within a month of Bellamy joining their school, he’d been moved into a good amount of her AP classes. This confused Clarke a lot. Word had gotten around about Bellamy; he was held back for terrible grades and expelled at least twice for kicking the shit out of people. That reputation had practically _bought_ him the approval of Murphy, and his three friends came with it. (To be fair, both Monroe and Miller were actually pretty nice, down to earth people – it was just Murphy and Mbege that were dicks.)

After AP History, in which they were handed their essays back, Clarke decided that she wanted a few more answers about Bellamy – he was too much of an enigma to her to let the opportunity pass. She packed up her things quickly; just enough so Bellamy could move to the front of the class from the back, and leave at the same time as her.

“What did you get on the essay?” She asked, following him out the door. Bellamy startled, looking down at her (there had to be just less than a foot between them). He was unsure, stumbling for words for a moment before replying.

“An A,” he told her. Clarke frowned at him, and he smirked. “I’m smarter than you’d think, Princess.” She rolled her eyes at that, pushing past a group of girls so she could keep up with him in the hallway.

“Don’t call me that.” Bellamy all but ignored her, asking a question.

“What did you get?”

“B minus,” she shrugged. Bellamy raised his eyebrows at this, but didn’t comment on it. Just walked slightly in front of her; slow enough that she didn’t have to move her legs quickly to keep up with him, and in such a way that the hallway parted for him, and kept separate to let her pass, too.

When they reached the end of the hall, he nodded at her. “See you later, Princess,” he smirked, before disappearing into the crowd. Clarke spent a moment being jostled by other students as she watched him go, before turning resolutely and going to her lesson.

-

“Is ‘Princess’ a pet name or a name to irritate you with?” Wells questioned in the library. Clarke was typing out another essay and he was researching something to do with politics – something that she cared very little about. On the opposite side of the table, with laptops of her own, Jasper and Monty sat, probably looking up pig gate or Nigel Farage or something that most definitely wasn’t getting their homework done.

“Irritate,” Clarke mumbled, racking her brain for a good quote to use. “He’s just doing it to piss me off.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Jasper pointed out. Clarke sent him a dry look. “What? Isn’t that what little kids are told? If a boy’s mean to you, then he likes you?” She scoffed, shaking her head.

“That is a terrible message to send to children,” she replied. “The boys who are mean to girls don’t like them – that’s why they’re mean to them. You know how I knew Wells liked me? Because he was excessively nice to me! You know how Harper knew that you liked her when we were kids? Because you sharpened all of her pencils for her, gave her the answers in class and carried her bag for her!” Jasper looked suitably chastised, so Clarke went back to work. Within a couple of minutes, her friends were talking again.

“We should double date,” Monty announced.

“With who?” Jasper asked. “We’re the only couple we know. And Wells and Clarke are probably sick of coming on double dates with us.”

“We are,” Wells agreed, not looking up from his screen. “We’re not even a couple, so really it’s just us hanging out like we do every day.” Monty shrugged as Clarke typed.

“Wells, get a girlfriend.”

“Working on it,” he replied absently. Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah? Who?” He shrugged.

“Harper, maybe? I’ve been working up the nerve to ask her out for like two months.” Clarke snorted.

“Good luck with that, buddy.”

“Oh, yeah?” He replied, looking away from his screen this time. “How’s your love life going?”

“No comment,” Clarke sniffed.

“Get a boyfriend,” Jasper told her.

“Or a girlfriend,” Monty shrugged. “Either would do – but I can’t put up with just Jasper on these dates anymore.” Clarke and Wells laughed as Jasper backhanded his boyfriend’s arm.

“Sort of half the point of a relationship,” Wells pointed out. Monty shrugged.

“Still – hey, maybe you should ask Bellamy out?” Clarke huffed.

“I don’t like him,” she replied.

“Try to,” Jasper urged.

“Why don’t you just lure him into a threesome if the two of you want to hang out with him so much?” The boys rolled their eyes as Clarke huffed. “I’m just saying – it would never work, and we don’t like each other, anyway.”

-

Clarke found herself at the play park, the next Saturday. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to go on the swings, anyway. She hadn’t been on one in far too long.

Clarke pushed off, leaning with the motions; making sure to kick strongly and definitely, each movement pushing her higher and higher in the air. The wind swept through her hair, pulling it behind her and then flying forward in front with each swing. After a while, Clarke closed her eyes, gripping the chains tightly as she leant back.

She opened her eyes, staring up at the sky; the clouds drifting above and the blue peeking through. It was her favourite shade of blue; the classic middle of the day sky blue; bright and powerful, as if it just wanted anyone who looked at it to smile.

“Clarke!” A voice called out, and Clarke sat up, swinging still as Octavia ran around the fence and to the swing next to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Swinging,” Clarke smiled. “What about you?”

“The same, now,” Octavia grinned, pushing off with her little legs. “And this is where I meet Bell.”

“You come here on your own?” Octavia nodded.

“Yeah – I spend Friday evenings and Saturday mornings at my Dad’s house,” she nods towards her backpack, discarded on the ground. “He lives up there.” Above the trees to their right; a road of houses loom over the top; terrace and plain brick. “Bellamy meets me here, but recently he’s been a little late because of work and stuff.” Clarke nodded as if this was common knowledge; but she now knew more that she thought she would; Bellamy’s parents were probably divorced, and he had a job.

“Does Bellamy stay with you at your Dad’s house?” Clarke asked. Octavia shook her head, and Clarke noticed the two of them weren’t putting effort into their swings, just going casually, as to hear the other.

“My Dad isn’t his Dad,” she explained. “We have the same Mama, though.”

“And you live with her for the rest of the week?” Octavia just scrunched up her nose, and Clarke’s feet scraped across the ground, grinding her to a halt.

“Mama died a while ago,” Octavia mumbled. “I live with Bellamy.”

“Bellamy looks after you?” She brightened a little with a nod.

“Yeah – he got custody of me because he was seventeen when it happened, but he kept fighting with the cases and the law and stuff until he turned eighteen.” Clarke frowned.

“How long ago?” She asked softly.

“Mama died about nine months ago, now,” Octavia replied sadly. “Back in May. And then Bellamy turned eighteen in September, so we were left with my Dad until then. And he’s okay – but he’s only good in little bursts, you know? Not with the full-time Dad thing.” Clarke just nodded, studying the girl’s face.

It was solid; her jaw was tensed but she didn’t look on the edge of tears – she looked like she could start a fight or a fire. Like the sadness had affected her but she was over it; over having emotions that hurt her.

“My Dad died as well,” Clarke told her, and Octavia’s head turned to her immediately. “I was your age when it happened.”

“Was it bad?” Clarke nodded.

“For the longest time. But it got better, and I don’t cry over it anymore.”

“How did it happen?”

“Car crash,” Clarke replied. Octavia nodded.

“Overdose,” she sighed. Clarke opened her mouth to respond, but words didn’t come. She could only think about how awful that must have been; so young and so aware of the nature of the world in its darkest areas. She didn’t have to say anything, however, because a deep voice called out.

“O!” Bellamy stood by the gate. “You ready?” Octavia nodded, jumping down from the swing. Her face tilted back into a smile again as she slung on her backpack.

“You’re good to talk to,” Octavia told her, pulling Clarke in for a quick hug, even though she was still sitting down. “I’ll see you next week.” She watched as O ran to Bellamy, and he only nodded in greeting, then the two were walking away and Clarke swung on the swings until they were out of sight, before picking up her backpack and walking home.

-

It continued that way. Clarke would talk to Bellamy after History until he resorted to just dumping his things down in the empty chair next to her, at the front, and sitting with her, and she turned up at the play park at the same time, every week, talking to O until her brother could come and pick her up. She learnt more about the family from the younger Blake than she did from the oldest.

He only talked about the simple things; lessons, his car, his friends – he had a strangely extensive knowledge when it came to the ancient civilisations and until the day he explained that he was the one who named his sister after Emperor Augustus’ sister. Octavia, however, talked about their home life; she opened up to Clarke on the Saturdays they spent together; talking about how Bellamy raised her, and what their parents were like.

Her friends just sent her odd looks when they caught wind of the seating situation in History, and she didn’t mention O to any of them, because that felt like a secret she wanted to keep to herself.

Until one day during lunch when her friends were debating which Transformers film was the best and Bellamy joined their table.

“Right, but Shia Labeouf,” Jasper pointed out. “That basically over rules any argument that says that the fourth was the best – it doesn’t even need to be in the running.”

“But the fourth actually had a relationship that wasn’t based on sex, in it,” Wells replied like it was obvious.

“Didn’t the main girl have a boyfriend?” Monty asked.

“Like a super-hot one?” Clarke added. Wells rolled his eyes.

“But the guy actually had some knowledge for once at the centre of it all; he wasn’t some dumbass kid.”

“Hey, Sam was never a dumbass kid,” Jasper replied, a finger in the air to stop Wells in his tracks. “He just wasn’t an inventor – he still knew a lot to do with history-“

“He went to college,” Clarke added. “And I’m pretty sure that’s more than what Cade did.”

“Cade was an inventor and he didn’t need college – if he had gone, he would have been even greater,” Wells replied. That’s when Bellamy sat down next to Clarke, no food, just a backpack he shoved by his feet. Wells looked a little confused, and Monty and Jasper were all-out shell shocked.

“Hi,” Clarke smiled – she didn’t dislike him all that much anymore. Sure, they got into a lot of arguments in History (mainly because he was an idiot), but he was nice, all the same – and she had a lot of respect for the guy, after finding out what sort of person he was from his sister.

“Hey,” he nodded, glancing around the group. “What are they staring at?” Clarke snorted, glancing at her friends.

“You. Now, what’s up?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Why doesn’t something have to be up?”

“Because you’ve never sat with me before.”

“I sit with you in History.”

“Different thing. That’s a class setting,” she pointed out. “This is free time – now, I repeat, what’s up?” Bellamy sighed.

“Are you free on Saturday?” She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“I think you must have noticed by now, I’m always free on Saturday.” He smirked, nodding.

“Well, not like, after lunch, this time – morning.” She nodded anyway. “O’s Dad bailed on this weekend, and I’m fine for the Friday, but I have work in the morning on Saturday – could you pretty please baby sit for me?” Clarke raised her eyebrows in surprise, sitting back a little. She knew her answer, but she had to let his words sink in for a moment.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she agreed. “I don’t know your address, though.”

“I can text it to you?” She nodded and he moved to get up, kicking his bag out from under the table.

“You don’t have my number,” she realised.

“Oh, uh, do you know it off by heart?” She paused for a moment before nodding. Bellamy stuck a hand in his pocket, pulling out a pen, before reaching a hand into his backpack and producing a notebook. He dropped the book on the table and tapped on the cover. Clarke didn’t bother to open it up and write on a page, instead she wrote straight onto the front cover; her number in the neatest handwriting she could produce.

Then she handed them back wordlessly, smiling slightly and he nodded.

“Great, thanks – I’ll text you.” Clarke nodded and he left abruptly, finding his way across the cafeteria and back to where his friends were. She looked back to her own, now, to find them all staring at her in surprise.

“What?” She asked.

“You’re friends with Bellamy Blake?” Jasper choked out. Clarke shrugged before nodding – because, yeah, she guessed; that’s what they were.

“And you didn’t think to mention it to us?” Monty asked, just as incredulously.

“Didn’t come up,” she shrugged.

“You’re babysitting for him?” She nodded.

“I like his sister.”

“Since when have you know his sister?” She thought for a moment.

“About a month and a half,” she told them. “I met her at the park and I guess I just kept going back.” Her friends stared at her for a moment longer before collectively shaking their heads.

“Oh, Clarky,” Wells sighed.

“What?”

“You’ve got it bad,” he told her, a little bit sorry. Clarke rolled her eyes, glancing away. Her gaze caught on Bellamy, though, sitting at his table with his friends; Monroe’s head tipped back in laughter and Miller shaking his head – not really smiling, but then again, he never did.

“Anyway,” she announced suddenly, bringing her mind back to reality. “The first film was way better than the second.”

“That’s bullshit,” Monty replied immediately, and the debate continued, but her heart wasn’t really in it anymore.

-

**Bellamy Blake**

**Friday 6:48pm**

_24 Mecha Road_

_9am_

**Clarke Griffin**

**Friday 6:50pm**

_Can’t wait._

-

Clarke arrived outside Bellamy Blake’s house at five to nine. She stood outside for a moment, looking up at it. It was detached, tiny and rundown. The grass out the front needed to be cut and weeded, and the windows were stained. She had to watch where she stepped on the way towards the door, and there was a tiny, taped sign in childish handwriting (obviously Octavia’s, because Clarke had seen Bellamy’s and it was immaculate) saying that the _doorbell didn’t work, please knock._

She did as she was told and it was only a moment later that the door opened and Octavia was peeking round through the gap. Once she’d assessed the visitor, she opened the door widely with a grin.

“Hi, Clarke!” Octavia was a force of nature and almost knocked Clarke off of her feet with her hug, but Clarke smiled and hugged her back anyway, following her inside.

She tried not to judge, but it was old and dirty in a lot of places. Even so, the Blake household was actually quite homey; it felt more lived in than her own home – one of the mansion on the upper side of Ark; it felt like a page from a catalogue, with two different cleaners on alternate days, a gardener and two people living there who tried to stay out of it as much as possible. She liked their house more, she decided. It may have needed a good hoover, but it felt cosy; like people truly loved each other there.

“O,” Bellamy sighed, jogging down the stairs. “What did I say about answering the door?”

“But it was Clarke,” Octavia replied, frowning.

“What if it wasn’t Clarke?”

“But it was,” she replied. “So I don’t see a problem.” Bellamy just sighed, defeated, and Octavia smiled before wandering back to the television that she sat down in front of on the floor, instead of the sofa, a large cork board in front of her and a thousand-piece puzzle by the side. Clarke looked from the girl to Bellamy with a smile.

“Thanks so much for this,” Bellamy told her earnestly, rubbing the back of his neck like it was embarrassing to ask for help. She nodded with a smile. “I’m sure O can show you where everything is. But, bathroom, kitchen, fridge. That’s all you’ll need, right?” Clarke just smiled.

“Basic human needs,” she agreed. Bellamy nodded, picking up his backpack from the sofa. He briefly touched her arm with his hand as he said thanks again, and sorry that he had to leave so quickly, before ducking out of the house. Clarke watched the door shut and heard his key turn in the lock, before she looked back to Octavia.

“Want to help with my puzzle?” O asked. Clarke shrugged, dumping her bag where Bellamy’s had just been and joining O on the floor. “It’s actually Bellamy’s, but he’s finished it loads of times – so I wanted to have a go.”

“What’s it of?” Clarke asked. Octavia turned around, finding the box and showing it to her. She smiled at the picture of the Colosseum, before propping the box lid up in front of them, so they could still see the image. “Have you got an action plan?” She questioned. Octavia shrugged, gesturing to the little groups of pieces that she’d fit together. “The easiest way is to get the edges done, and then work inwards.”

-

Octavia and Clarke didn’t talk about anything deep, while she was babysitting. It was joking around, and Clarke having issues flushing the toilet and Octavia laughing, coming into the bathroom and turning on the cold tap and showing her that unless it was running, the toilet wouldn’t do anything helpful. It was them making lunch together and talking about the show on TV, and putting together a puzzle and Octavia losing a piece under the sofa. It was calm and happy; not loaded like some of their other talks.

Clarke felt oddly relaxed, sitting with Octavia. She never got that feeling anymore; she was always running around between clubs and homework and friends. Always trying to fix things and make sure that she was still achieving her potential and getting into a good college. It was such hard work, being Clarke Griffin – but she suddenly had this reprieve, that she hadn’t realised she wanted so much.

Bellamy got back a little after one, finding them giggling on the sofa; completely finished puzzle laid out in front of them and the TV playing in the background.

“I was going to apologise for asking you to do this for me,” Bellamy started as he shut the door behind him. The two girls looked up. “But it doesn’t seem to have been all that much of a hardship.” A smirk was playing about his lips and Clarke held a hand to her heart.

“It was awful,” she complained jokingly. “Your little sister is an absolute _monster_ – I don’t know how you cope.” Octavia laughed and Bellamy just shook his head, biting back a smile.

“You finished the puzzle,” he noticed, nodding appreciatively at the board in front of the TV. The girls looked over.

“It was fun,” O replied. “Clarke’s good at puzzles.”

“I was a boring child,” Clarke replied with shrug. “I own far too many puzzles.” Within ten minutes or so, Octavia had gone up to her room and Bellamy had landed heavily on the sofa with a sigh.

“How was work?” She asked, mainly to make conversation, but also because she didn’t want to go home to such an empty space when here, everything was so cluttered and comfy.

“Tiring,” he replied. “It’s a car shop and they’ve been teaching me the ropes for the past few months.” She nodded.

“I thought you worked at a coffee shop?” She questioned next, remembering Octavia mention it once. Bellamy just nodded.

“That, too – but that’s week day afternoons. I pick up O straight after school and then she sits in the shop doing her homework until I’m done.” Clarke nodded seriously, her mouth dry as she realised how much time Bellamy spent looking after Octavia. She didn’t say anything though and the two sat in silence.

“How much did Octavia tell you about our lives?” He asked eventually, breaking the quiet.

“A lot,” she replied quietly. “I think she just likes to let it all out.” He didn’t reply for a while, just tapped his fingers against the arm of the sofa.

“Do you know why I was held back?” She paused.

“I heard it was because you got expelled, or punched a guy or something.” He raised his eyebrows and she kept going. “Originally it was bad grades, but you get better ones that me – so I knew it couldn’t be that. There is a rumour going around that you killed a man, though, and spent a year in prison throughout the court case, so you have to repeat your junior year.” Bellamy just snorted at that and sat up.

“No,” he sighed. “I wish it was that interesting. I was a problem child, sure. I got into fights and stuff, but I never got expelled. My grades were good, but then Mum died near the end of the school year – right before the exams. I fucked up, Clarke.” He looked more serious than Clarke had ever seen him before; like he’d never told anyone this and she wondered why he was saying it to her. She only briefly noticed that this was the first time he called her by her actual name – not Princess. “I got into a massive fight; got arrested to vandalism too, but the charges were dropped eventually. They didn’t expel me but I didn’t turn up for the exams, I just turned off. It was like I shut down or something and wasn’t working anymore.” Bellamy sighed again, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess,” he continued. “I didn’t get enough credits or something to get through to my senior year? I didn’t do well enough and then I was just being thrown around O's Dad's house - he didn't really like either of us, but he likes O more, if he gets to act the parent once a week. When I got custody, I changed schools – I wasn’t going through all of that again.”

The two remain silent for a moment after he’s done, and then Clarke looks over.

“I think it’s really great, what you did for Octavia,” she told him. “Only someone really strong and brave would be able to do that.” He scoffed. “No, seriously – I wouldn’t be able to get custody of a sibling; I wouldn’t be able to manage that after all the shit that life handed you. Bellamy, it’s pretty damn great what you did.”

She moved closer, sitting in the middle of the sofa, next to him. Their knees were touching and Bellamy studied her for a moment before sitting up properly again.

“I’m not going to stop calling you Princess, just because you said something nice to me,” he told her lowly, and Clarke noticed that he was closer than he had been before. She realised for the first time that he had a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and his eyes were like dark chocolate.

“I fully understand that,” she replied, her eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. Who could blame her – she realised now that this was where it had all been leading; it was inevitable. He had all the good that Octavia had, and a bad that was all his own – she couldn’t help but like that and move closer, closing the gap between them. When their lips met, it was slow for just the first few seconds; then his hands moved and hers found their way to his neck. It was rushed and hot; teeth clashing; biting each other’s lips and she didn’t care if she drew blood, because this was the worst of their arguments of events happening hundreds of years ago and this was the best of the smiles he started sending her when she kept appearing at the park; and it was all in one kiss that sent shivers all the way down to her toes.

-

When Octavia eventually walked in on them kissing, she squealed.

When Wells found out they were dating, he rolled his eyes and shrugged.

When the school found out they were dating, both Clarke and Bellamy’s group merged into something terrifying but interesting (Murphy and Mbege weren’t all that bad when you got to know them).

When Jasper realised they were a couple, he was only okay with it when Bellamy agreed like it was obvious that Transformers 4 was the worst Transformers film.

When Monty learned of it, he was just happy to get to go on a double date.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This wasn't going to be any more than 1k when I started writing, but it grew over the past 2 hours and here we are.  
> Please hit the kudos button and talk to me in the comments! I don't bite and I love to hear your opinion!


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